


Missing, Not D--

by mozbee



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Denial, Friendship, Hopeful Ending, No Spoilers for IT Chapter Two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-18
Updated: 2019-09-18
Packaged: 2020-10-21 09:11:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,766
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20691035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mozbee/pseuds/mozbee
Summary: Bill comes home from a weekend camping to find his parents have emptied Georgie's room.He is not okay with it.





	Missing, Not D--

Bill slid open the door of the Tozier’s van and hefted his backpack up on his shoulders. Richie turned to face him from the front seat. “Okay, we’ll all get our bikes and ride back over here.” Bill nodded and hopped out of the van.

“I’ll j-j-j-just have a sh-shower quick and b-be ready.”

“You better wash your ass!” Bill heard Richie yell before the door shut. Immediately Eddie was snapping at Richie, telling him _of course Bill knows basic hygiene, just because you’re filthy_ as Mr. Tozier drove off after exchanging an eye roll with Bill.

Bill hurried up the porch steps, eager to get in the shower and wash off three days of grime from their camping trip. Richie’s dad had dropped him off first, so he had time before Richie, Eddie and Stan were brought home and got their bikes and came over. The house was quiet when he walked in, but that wasn’t out of the ordinary these days. He toed his muddy shoes off at the front door and banged them against the brick beside the front door, dropping them out of the way and then shut the door behind him. He had just started up the stairs when he heard it: his mother crying. His heart fluttered and he swallowed hard, pausing on the steps. She was upstairs, and he would bet Silver she was in Georgie’s room.

For a minute he stood rooted to the spot. He felt bad, but he didn’t want to see his mom cry. He didn’t want to see her face, wet with tears, crumpled in a visage of misery. Bill squared his shoulders. He couldn’t leave her alone _even though she left him alone now_. He resumed his journey upstairs, and took a deep breath when he stood outside of Georgie’s room, the door pulled shut. Bill braced himself and pushed the door open.

His insides froze, then shattered.

Sharon Denbrough was sitting in the middle of the floor, holding the ratty blue teddy bear she had made Georgie for his first birthday. The room was empty.

Bill’s heart kicked a funny beat in his chest. “Mm-mom, w-w-what ha-ha-happened?” His lips trembled and he felt winded, dizzy. Sharon sniffled but didn’t lift her head from where it was bent over the bear. Bill was only able to take a single step before stopping, his legs weak. “Wh-wh-where’s G-G-G-Georgie’s st-stuff?” Sharon’s shoulders curled in tighter, shaking. Bill’s voice cracked as he pleaded. “M-m-muh-_mom_!”

Finally, Sharon looked up. She had hair in her eyes, eyes that were red, raw, bags under them. “What do you want Bill,” she said in a flat voice.

“Wh-wh-where’s G-Georgie’s stuff?” Bill cried. His eyes tracked over the bare walls, devoid of posters and pictures. In the corner where the bed was supposed to be, the baseboards were dusty. Even the closet was empty, a few bare hangers sitting quietly on the rail. “Wh-wh-what—” his chest felt tight, his fingers cold. He couldn’t form his words, never mind spit them out.

“It’s been eight months,” Sharon said in that same tired voice. She traced the bear’s face with her finger. She looked sick.

“B-b-but he’s c-cuh-coming ba-back,” Bill insisted. “He’s m-missing, he’s not—” his throat closed up and he stopped, shook his head because he could do nothing else. “Wh-where did y-you pu-put his st-stuff?”

“Ask your father.” Sharon closed her eyes and pressed the bear to her face, inhaling deeply, her breath shuddering.

“H-he’s not ho-ho-home!” Bill snapped. He clenched his fists, palms sweaty, cold. His heart beat so wildly it was a wonder he couldn’t see it through his shirt. “Y-you di-di-didn’t th-throw it out, d-did you?” She didn’t answer, didn’t look up from the bear. “D-did you th-throw his stuff o-out?” Bill’s voice was shrill, hurting his throat. “An-answer me!”

Sharon looked up at him, eyes wild. “Ask your _father_,” she hissed, and it was so cold Bill took a step back. She got to her feet, standing unsteadily, the bear gripped tight in her hand.

“He-he’s n-n-n-not home!” Bill repeated. “Di-did you throw a-an-anything out?” He tried to hold back the tears that threatened to no avail and scrubbed a hand over his face. “G-G-G-Georgie’s go-going to n-n-need h-his stuff when he cuh-cuh-comes ba—”

Sharon wailed and Bill jumped. The fluttery feeling in his chest increased tenfold. “Oh, Bill!” she cried, pressing one hand to her head. “Just stop! Stop…_talking_, just stop!” She straightened and looked him in the eye. “He’s not coming back.”

Bill felt sick. His head pounded, his stomach hurt. He shook his head, running his tongue over his dry lips. “Y-yes he i-i-is,” he insisted, but it sounded shaky to his ears. “G-G-Georgie is cuh-coming h-h-_home_. He’s m-m-missing, he’s not—”

“He’s dead!” Sharon screamed, eyes wild. She gasped, looking horrified. Her face collapsed and she began weeping anew. “He’s dead,” she said between gasps, and Bill could see her chin trembling.

“N-no,” Bill said in a low voice. “N-n-no he’s no-not. Y-y-you can’t gi-give up on h-him,” he was crying freely, didn’t even know what he was saying, and he’s sure his mother can’t understand a word he’s choking out. “He’s not d-d-d—he’s j-ju-just m-missing, he’s n-not—”

“Stop,” Sharon moaned, covering her face with both hands. “Stop, _stop_, just fucking STOP Bill!” She was in his face, long fingers gripping his shoulders, and Bill pulled back, startled into silence.

The room was quiet save for their heaving breaths. His mother cried again, hanging her head, and abruptly let go of Bill, pushing past him. Footsteps in the hall, and then her bedroom door shut. Bill flinched; he had expected her to slam it.

“Bill?” He didn’t turn at the tentative voice, didn’t take his eyes off the empty room laid out before him. “Bill?”

Richie, Stan and Eddie were in front of him, looking shell-shocked.

“Are you okay?’ Stan asked, looking scared. Eddie gulped beside him, fingers playing with the zip on his fanny pack.

“Hey Bill?” Richie tried. Bill reached up and wiped the wetness from his face, a useless endeavour as he couldn’t stop the tears. He blinked at Richie, and looked around the room, then turned on his heel and walked out, down the stairs at a sedate pace, heedless of his friends following close behind after a moment’s hesitation. Bill crossed the front hall to the door and tugged it open, forgoing shoes as he strode down the porch steps.

“Bill!” He didn’t stop, didn’t turn. He had a destination in mind and nothing was going to keep him from it. He only faintly registered sharp pebbles through his socks, damp grass soaking his toes as he crossed the lawn and hurried down the sidewalk. A hand tugged at the back of his shirt and he angrily threw it off, picking up his pace. He ran, ignoring the voices behind him, chest bursting as he flew down the street, only stopping when he was near Jackson. Near the storm drain.

Bill got close to the curb and threw himself on his knees, feeling the skin break when he landed. His palms had stones dug into them, and he shook them out as he crawled close enough to almost put his head down the small hole.

“G-G-G-Georgie!” he yelled as loud as he could. His voice echoed back. “G-G-Georgie, if y-yu-you can he-hear m-me, s-say someth-thing.” Silence. “Georgie!”

Footsteps pounded up the pavement, and he dimly heard Eddie wheezing. “Holy shit, Bill,” Eddie gasped out. “You forgot your shoes.”

“Eds,” Richie muttered, then he was on his knees next to Bill. “That was pretty fucked up,” he told Bill. Bill ignored him.

“G-Georgie! Ju-just say s-s-someth-thing!” Bill pleaded. His face was so close to the drain, the rotten stink cloying, and he nearly retched. There was a hand on his back, and he shook it off. “I’m s-s-sorry, G-Georgie,” he said, quieter now. “I’m s-sorry I-I di-didn’t want t-to pl-play with y-you.” He let his head drop to the road, uncaring of the debris. He heard Eddie gasp and the telltale hiss of an inhaler. “Ju-just come h-h-home,” Bill pleaded. There was nothing. No high-pitched voice calling his name, no splash of galoshes through shitty water. Nothing. Nothing in the sewer, nothing at home, nothing in Bill.

“Sit up,” Richie said, and he was pulling on Bill’s shirt, and Bill allowed himself to be dragged off the road, planted on the curb a few feet from where Georgie had been last seen. He sat hunched in on himself, fingers buried in his hair, and he didn’t realize the high, keening noise in the air was coming from him. His shoulders ached where his mother had gripped him.

“Th-they just d-dumped his st-st-stuff,” Bill said in a low voice. He felt the others around him, sitting or standing close, protective. “They wa-waited until I wa-was gone and they ju-just—” he shook his head and wiped his nose on the knee of his jeans, dirtying his face further. He didn’t care. Why should he? Why should he care about anything? His parents thought Georgie wasn’t coming home. They had given up, and that scared Bill more than anything. Because if his parents, his parents who were supposed to be able to fix anything, if they had stopped believing in Georgie coming home, then…

“It’s easier to live in denial,” Stan said in his quiet way. “Your mom misses Georgie. It’s easier for her to think he’s not coming back instead of waiting.”

“Well she shouldn’t have emptied his room like that,” Eddie hissed. He was pressed to Bill’s left side, his nervous, fluttery gestures easily identified, known to Bill like muscle memory.

“No, that’s pretty fucked up,” Richie said again. “Georgie’s gonna be pissed when he comes home and doesn’t even have a—”

“D-do you th-think he’s gonna c-cuh-come back?” Bill interrupted. He sat up, his feet and knees and palms and back aching, burning. He felt rubbed raw on the inside, and couldn’t handle bullshit platitudes from his friends right now. Richie looked Bill dead-on.

“Yeah.”

Bill nodded slowly. “M-m-me t-too.” He let go of a breath he hadn’t been aware he was holding and looked toward the sewer once more.

“We brought your shoes, Bill,” Eddie said, sounding marginally less terrified. Stan came and dropped the shoes in front of Bill’s stained socks.

Minutes passed in silence, Stan sitting on the other side of Eddie. There was still Richie’s steady hand on Bill’s back, and Bill closed his eyes and focused on getting his breathing back under control. He listened to the birds in the trees around them, listened to the wind sigh its way down the street, and wondered if the birds had been here to see Georgie disappear, if the wind had blown fiercely or softly while Georgie was taken.

“Y-you gu-guys can g-g-go if you w-want,” Bill muttered. He squeezed the curb, the unyielding cement an odd sort of comfort.

“No way,” Richie said immediately. “You think we’re gonna leave you here so you can swan dive down into the shitty sewer?”

“Bill would not actually go in the sewer,” Eddie told Richie, and he was so insulted on Bill’s behalf that Bill almost grinned. “Do you even know how many communicable diseases are down there, just waiting for a healthy host to infect and ruin—”

“I d-did once,” Bill admitted. “Wh-when Georgie f-first went m-missing,” _he traipsed through cold, foul-smelling water, shied away from the slime on the walls around him, slipping on the smooth floor. He was scared, but his head was so full of the image of bringing Georgie home, of seeing the despair wiped from his parents’ faces, that he kept on going, the beam from his flashlight dancing over the walls. He didn’t shine it down, in the water; it looked too much like dozens of eyes peering up at him from the murky depths. _“I di-didn’t find anyth-thing,” he finished unnecessarily.

“Well, maybe you just didn’t look far enough,” Richie offered. “We can help you look, Bill. If you want to go again—”

“No,” Eddie said, shaking his head adamantly. “I am not going anywhere _near _a sewer pipe—” he faltered, and Bill felt him inhale deeply. “—until I get my tetanus shot. I don’t even want to imagine what we would be breathing in down there.”

“Wouldn’t be any worse than your mom’s vagina.”

“Tozier I swear to _fucking_ God if you bring her up again—”

“What, you’ll spank me?” Richie sounded delighted. “You know that’s how I punish your mom too when she— don’t pinch you fucking gremlin.”

Bill was jostled slightly as the two of them jabbed at each other around him. He paid them no mind, already formulating a plan. If the four of them went down together, they could cover more ground. Bill hadn’t gone down in the sewer since that first time; those leering reflections in the water had unnerved him, and there had been something else…a voice, he thought, or maybe a giggle, something that had echoed around him, settled deep in his bones. He’d felt cold since that day, almost eight months ago. He shook the memory off.

“W-would,” he hesitated, scratched at a scab visible through his ripped jeans, “w-w-would you gu-guys actually c-come down th-there with m-me? To…l-look?”

“Yeah,” Richie said. “I mean, it’s no different than climbing into Eddie’s mom’s bed—my glasses, you dipshit!” he snapped at Eddie when he was knocked on the back of the head and his glasses fell into the street.

“I would,” Stan said, and gave a small smile when Bill looked at him. The three of them looked expectantly at Eddie, who was tugging the zip on his fanny pack again, looking harassed.

“Listen, if we’re going down there, we are wearing fucking masks,” he told them. Richie scoffed.

“We don’t need to go in costume, Spaghetti.”

“You know what? I’m gonna poke a hole in yours so you can breathe all the shitty air and get all the shitty water in your mouth and die when you’re twenty because of respiratory failure, how’s that fucking sound?” A beat and then he added, “and I’m not a fucking gremlin.”

Stan snorted. Bill felt his mouth twitch, and Richie burst out laughing. Eddie tried to glare at him, at all of them as they started to laugh more, and when he shot to his feet and stood in front of them with his hands on his hips, looking every part of a harried pre school teacher, that did them in, so soon even Eddie was having trouble keeping a straight face.

“You can all go fuck yourselves,” he announced. “School’s out in two weeks. We should make a plan of where we’re going to look, and _no_, not up my mother’s ass,” he ground out at Richie.

“Jesus,” Richie muttered to the other two, “if Georgie was up there we’d never find him.” He winced when Eddie swung a foot and nailed him in the knee. “You’re not going camping again,” he told Eddie, getting to his feet and swinging his leg loosely. “You eat too many s’mores and get feisty.” Richie turned and offered a hand to Bill. “Come along, Billiam, let us adjourn to my house for snacks and planning.”

Bill slipped his shoes on, grimacing at the dirt and grass stuck to his socks, and accepted Richie’s hand. He cast one last look behind him, and felt his resolve harden.

_No matter how long it takes, Georgie. I promise._

“Hey, how late do you think we’ll be at your house?” Stan asked Richie after Bill began to walk. They fell into step beside him. Richie shrugged.

“I dunno, not long enough you miss your date with lady Herschel. Why?”

“Well if it’s later than midnight, Eddie can’t go.”

“Why not?” Eddie demanded, turning suspicious eyes on Stan.

“Cause you can’t eat after midnight.”

As his friends bickered and shoved each other, Bill felt lighter with each step. He was still in turmoil, over Georgie’s empty room, over his mother’s outburst, but now, with the beginnings of a plan formed, and his friends beside him, he thought that just maybe there would be a day in the near future _maybe even this summer_ where Georgie will be complaining about sharing a room with Bill until his own is back together.

It’s not concrete, it’s a hope. But it still made Bill feel lighter than he has in almost eight months.

_Just hang on, Georgie. We’re coming._

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't kidding when I said I am all about sad bill. But also not kidding when I say I am all about Reddie and I am looking forward to finishing the Reddie fic I have in the wings. Watch me for more crying boys, that's who I am.


End file.
